“Leverage.”
I looked at her.
“If Trent controlled the child, he controlled me.”
She didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
That afternoon, Nicole asked to see me.
My first reaction was no.
Then I remembered the flour tin.
Eleven thousand dollars.
Hundreds of recordings.
A woman who had participated in my humiliation while secretly building an escape route I never knew existed.
I agreed under controlled circumstances.
Nicole entered the private meeting room looking nothing like the woman I remembered.
No designer dress.
No perfect makeup.
No phone in her hand.
She sat across from me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “I’m sorry.”
I felt anger rise so quickly it surprised me.
“You laughed.”
She flinched.
“You filmed me.”
“I know.”
“Your brother hurt me, and you filmed it.”
“I know.”
“Your mother told him to hit me harder.”
Nicole’s eyes filled with tears.
“And I stood there.”
“Yes.”
“I thought if I stopped pretending to be one of them, they’d know I was collecting evidence.”
I stared at her.
“That doesn’t erase what you did.”
“No.”
“You could have called the police.”
“I should have.”
“You could have told Eli.”
“I should have.”
“You could have helped me.”
“I should have.”
Every answer was the same.
No excuse.
No defense.
Finally, my anger cracked.
“Why the money?”
Nicole wiped her face.
“Because Mom controlled the accounts. Trent watched yours. I thought cash was the only thing they couldn’t freeze.”
“Why eleven thousand?”
“I wanted you to have enough for a hotel, lawyer and deposit somewhere.”
“Why didn’t you leave?”
Her expression changed.
“I was going to.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because then nobody would be inside.”
The room went silent.
Nicole reached into the folder her attorney had approved her to bring.
She slid a photograph toward me.
It showed Helen standing in my nursery beside the crib.
Beside her was an unfamiliar woman.
On the back, Nicole had written a date.
Two weeks earlier.
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Dr. Marianne Cole.”
“A doctor?”
“A psychiatrist.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why was a psychiatrist in my nursery?”
Nicole looked terrified.
“Because Mom paid her to write an evaluation about you.”
“I never met her.”
“I know.”
“And what did the evaluation say?”
May you like
Nicole swallowed.
“That you were mentally unfit to care for your baby.”
Chapter 5 – THE REPORT WRITTEN BY A DOCTOR WHO HAD NEVER MET METhe psychiatric report was nine pages long.
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